Modesitt, L.E. - The Ecolitan Matter 04 - The Ecolitian Enigma

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PROLOGUE

Secession, Ecologic (3647-48)

The war leading to the independence of the Coordinate of Accord [See also

Ecologic Rebellion, Accord, Ecolitian Institute] .

During the years 3645-46, Imperial relations with the Fuardian Conglomerate

became increasingly strained, and a number of colony systems protested the ad

valorem and ad personam taxes levied by the Empire to support the

infrastructure necessary to restrain the Conglomerate. Among the discontented

colony systems were chose of Accord (Imperial Sector Five) and Sligo (Imperial

Sector Seven).

Accord used high-technology sabotage and commando tactics to destroy key

military fueling and staging bases (Haversol, Cubera, Fonderol) at a time when

the majority of Imperial forces were deployed in Sector Two to counter the

perceived Fuardian threat. The Accord sabotage limited to an even greater

extent the ability of Imperial warcraft to reach Accord's isolated location on

the Parthanian Rift.

Unable to deal with potentially extended conflicts on three fronts, the Empire

reduced Sligo, where casualties exceeded fifteen million, despite an initially

published estimate of only three million [See Lies for the Popular Good].

Following the Empire's destruction of Sligo and all installations in its

system, the provisional government of Accord launched a successful ecologic

attack on Old Earth in 3647, primarily using the resources of the Ecolitan

Institute [See The Black Institute]. The resulting Ecollapse eventually

fragmented the terran ecology. The Empire retaliated by sending a full fleet

to the Accord system. Innovative and suicidal tactics developed and

spearheaded by Ecolitan [later Prime] James Joyson Whaler [See WrightWhaler

Controversy] resulted in the total destruction of that Imperial fleet in late

3647.

The Fuardian Conglomerate then unveiled a new series of warships of

performance and armament vastly superior to existing Imperial craft [See CX

Affair] and seized former Imperial systems in Sector Two (the Three System

Bulge).

With the Empire weakened by the increasingly unstable political climate and

mounting death toll from the Ecollapse on Old Earth, the potential of further

ecological devastation from the Ecolitan Institute, and the clear

technological superiority of the Conglomerate, Emperor Jynstin II recognized

the independence of Accord and shifted all Imperial forces and battle groups

to Sector Two, leading to the Truce of Tierna. Under the Truce, the

Conglomerate retained the Three System Bulge, except that the then-undeveloped

system of Artos was ceded to New Avalon, and the Empire ceded the undeveloped

system of D'Sanya to Chezchos, later the Federated Hegemony.

The perceived failure of the monarchy led to the Senatorial Reformation [See

N'Trosia Catalyst] and the political restructuring of the Empire . . .

Dictionary of Imperial History K. J, Peynon

New Augusta 4102

Filled with the faint odors of oil, hot metal, and recycled air, the down-

shuttle from Accord orbit control to Harmony was less than half full. In the

left front couch sat a tall sandyhaired man wearing the formal greens of an

Ecolitan. On his left uniform collar was a black-and-green lustral pin-a gift

from the Emperor of the Hegemony of Light, more commonly known as the Terran

Empire. The pin was a contradiction in terms because the substance of the

lustral represented a small fortune and the form was a miniature of the crest

of the Ecolitan Institute. Beside the Ecolitan sat a dark-haired woman in a

blue jumpsuit.

Sylvia glanced sideways at Nathaniel as the Ecolitan fidgetedin the hard

passenger seat of the Coordinate shuttle."Iffy approach," he said.

"And yours haven't been?" The slender and dark-haired woman offered a smile.

"Mine?"

"Yours." The smile broadened.

"Which kind are you referring to?" he countered, trying not to grin in return.

"Any kind, most honorable envoy."

"I'd hope mine, especially in shuttles and needle-boats, were less rocky," he

finally said, squelching a frown as the buffering shuttle tossed him against

his harness. "Do all pilots find other pilots' approaches questionable?"

"Probably. We hate being passengers."

"It sounds like you're all control addicts." She offered a softer smile.

"That's probably true, too."

"I still wonder." She shook her head. "This is so sudden. I hadn't planned to

emigrate so soon. And certainly not to Accord. Your clearance officers on the

orbit control station-they barely looked at me. Do all Ecolitans have that

kind of power?"

"Hardly." Nathaniel laughed. "It wasn't me, but the Prime Ecolitans access

codes."

"Just codes? Could any Ecolitan do that?"

"Not unless the Prime gave him the codes." The sandy-haired man swayed in the

seat as the shuttle banked onto what Nathaniel hoped was the final approach.

"They're held tightly."

"Does that happen often?"

Nathaniel shrugged. "Every few years, maybe. This was important to us."

Still, he had trouble believing his mission as an agent/official envoy was

over, and that he had actually managed to avert what could have been an

interstellar war between the Coordinate of Accord and the Empire. Although

he'd sweated and worried, especially when it had looked as though the Imperial

fleet had been ready to deploy, now it seemed almost too easy. . . and as if

he'd missed something. He refrained from shaking his head. At least he'd

gotten Sylvia off Old Earth. But did she want off?

"You'd already gotten the trade agreement before you left Old Earth," Sylvia

continued. "You didn't need me. Why was I important to your mission? Or

afterwards?"

"Because I think so." He grinned. "Because you made it all possible, and

because-"

"Please remain in your seats. Shuttle Beta is on final approach to Harmony.

Please remain in your seats."

"-you'd be an asset to the Institute."

"They'd take me on your recommendation?"

"Not automatically, but I can't recall when the recommendation of a senior

professor was last rejected." He cleared his throat and raised his voice above

the roar of the landing engines. "That's because we don't make many, and we're

held responsible."

"How many have you made?" Sylvia asked with a smile. "You're the first. I

don't know of any professor, or even the Prime, who's made more than three.

Some never have."

Her eyes dropped to the green of the bulkhead before them. "You make me sound

extraordinarily special, and I'm not."

"You're not? How many people would have had the background, the understanding,

and the willingness to help me-and to prevent the deaths of billions of human

beings?" And that was just where an interstellar war could have led. "I'm not

that special."

"We'll talk about that later, Ms. Ferro-Maine," Nathaniel said as the shuttles

tires screeched on the permacrete of Accord and he lurched against the

harness. "Way too rough . . ." he murmured more to himself than Sylvia.

Even before the shuttle lurched to a halt, prompting another sour look by

Nathaniel, the announcement hissed through the passenger compartment.

"Please pick up your bags or any luggage on the way out of the shuttle. You

are responsible for carrying your own luggage unless you have made prior

arrangements. Please pick up your luggage on the way out."

"Self-sufficiency begins from the moment you set foot on the planet, I see."

After the final lurch, Sylvia eased out other harness and stood, stretching.

Nathaniel watched for a moment, enjoying her grace, still half-amazed that she

had not been good enough for a professional dancing career on Old Earth.

"Dancing takes more than grace."

"How did you-"

"You've said it enough, especially every time I stretch." Another warm smile

crossed her lips. "Time to become pack animals."

"With what little you brought?"

"I had very little time to choose, as you may recall?"

"Sorry. I'll see that you get a stipend for that." And he would, even if it

came out of his pay. "You arent responsible for everything, dear envoy." No,

he thought, we Ecolitans only think we are. One of the uniformed crew members-

a woman in olive greens standing behind the baggage racks-looked sharply at

the two for a moment as they retrieved their bags, two field packs for

Nathaniel and two oblong black synfab cases for Sylvia.

Once they stepped out of the shuttle and into the shuttleway to the port

terminal, Nathaniel took a deep breath. "Smells better than ship air."

"It smells like burned hydrocarbons to me," confessed Sylvia. "Professor

Whaler?" asked the redheaded young woman in plain greens, waiting by the end

of the shuttleway.

"I'm Whaler," Nathaniel acknowledged. "And this is Ms. Ferro-Maine. She's

accompanying me to the Institute."

"Trainee Luren, sirs," offered the youngster, probably a fourth-year trainee,

Nathaniel suspected. "The Prime sent a flitter when he got your message." Her

rust-colored eyebrows lifted just slightly. "If you would follow me?"

"Thank you. " The Ecolitan did not answer the unasked question. Few Ecolitans

got private flitters on returning to Accord. Most carried their own luggage

and took the monorail.

As they trailed Luren, Sylvia murmured, "I thought you said we'd have to take

the monorail."

"I couldn't count on a flitter . . . didn't want to disappoint you."

"You won't be disappointed that you aren't flying it?" She raised her

eyebrows.

"A little, but into each life some rain falls."

"Please..."

Luren paused by a narrow doorway. "We're down the steps and across the

permacrete."

Nathaniel squinted as they stepped out into the bright sunlight of Harmony, if

a shuttle port nearly twenty kilos south of Harmony could be considered part

of the Coordinate capital. "There it is, sirs," said Luren.

Nathaniel glanced toward the green flitter as he eased the field packs through

the doorway, then looked back toward Sylvia, whose mouth opened. Scritt!

Scritt!

Nathaniel scarcely felt the needles that slammed him around, not after Sylvia

threw him behind the slight cover afforded by their bags. For a moment, he

just lay there. On Accord? With an Institute flitter less than a hundred

meters away? How could an assassination attempt take place? And why? He'd

already done his job, and nothing would stop implementation of the trade

agreement.

Nathaniel squinted through his sudden dizziness at the sprawled form of the

trainee and then toward the flitter.

Thrummmm. . . thrummm. . . Almost as quickly as the stunner bolts flew from

the Institute craft, two figures in greens sprinted from the flitter toward

the three sprawled on the permacrete.

Eeeeeee . . . The sirens seemed to waver in and around Nathaniel from a

distance as he slowly eased himself into a sitting position.

His entire side was a mass of fire. "Are you all right?" Sylvia asked. "Will

be . . . need to get to the Institute." He struggled to stand, then found

himself being helped by both Sylvia and a young Ecolitan.

"Whoever it was is gone, professor. We've alerted the Prime, but we're to get

you home double speed." The young crewman turned to Sylvia. "You, too, Ms.

Ferro-Maine."

Nathaniel forced his legs to carry him toward the still waiting flitter,

although it was more of a stagger than a walk. Still, he knew every pace was

worth more than antique gold, especially if the needles had carried nerve

collapse toxins. He blocked the pain and kept walking, but the permacrete and

the flitter began to swirl around him. "Catch him."

The Fuardian officer wearing crimson-trimmed formal grays and a silver hawk on

his shoulder tabs stepped inside the spacious office. "Ser?"

"I don't have time to read forty-page reports, colonel. Answer me simply. Are

your operations going as planned?" asked the gray-clad officer behind the

desk.

"Ah, sub-marshal . . . yes. We had not foreseen the Accord trade negotiations,

but the Coordinate's conduct there has sharpened the Grand Admirals concerns.

The use of an Ecolitan as a trade negotiator has definitely put the laser on

the Rift. The devastation of the synde bean plague on Heraculon has reinforced

those Imperial concerns . . ."

"How strongly?"

"The death toll is over four million so far. The Empire has had to divert most

of its spare cargo capacity for food concentrates. They've even sent in

military power systems from reserve units."

"Good. And?"

"There are still murmurs about Accord. We don't have the analysis yet, but

those could be pushed by the trideo initiative. Either way, the laser points

directly at Harmony. We've taken some additional steps there as well to point

back at the Admiral . , or others. We had to divert a fast courier, but . . ."

"That's secondary, though, for now. Do we have enough .seed stock for the next

phase?"

"Yes, ser, and the next phase will target both the anchovies and the algae.

Anarra, the Matriarchy, then Imperial Sector Four. We've established the

probable secondary vectors if it were a natural plague, and those will be

planted over the next few weeks, using the commercial trade system." The sub-

marshal nodded curtly.

"What about the transfer arrangements?" asked the colonel. "Our contacts have

asked about that,"

"We do not have to deliver anything-especially warcraft until the Ninth and

Eleventh fleets are transferred to the Rift, or two other fleets in the

sectors bordering the Three System Bulge are shifted along the Limber line."

The senior officer smiled. "When that occurs, the general staff will be more

than happy to approve the transfer. More than happy. After we occupy the

systems, particularly . . . shall we say . . . those of the priggish

Avalonians."

Yes, ser.

"And colonel?"

"Ser?"

"Next time, send a summary with the report. It will save us both time."

Nathaniel looked from his bed at the dark-haired dancer, her left arm in a

sling and covered with a nerve regeneration sheathe. "I didn't expect . . ,

such a welcome here in Harmony."

"Neither did I." Sylvia offered a wry smile. "It was even more dramatic than

your welcome to New Augusta."

"No one seems to want me to go anywhere, even home." He swallowed. "Are you

all right?" As close as Sylvia sat on the straight-backed wooden chair, he

couldn't miss the dark circles under her eyes. Behind her, through the wide

window, he could see the low hills to the west of the Institute, their treed

lower slopes a deep green. "You're asking how I am?"

"I know how I'm doing. I'll live, and nothing permanent's damaged."

"On Old Earth, you'd be dead, I think." She frowned. "I

knew the Institute had good medical techniques, but knowing. . . and

experiencing . . ."

"This is Accord." He forced a soft laugh, ignoring the wave of pain that the

sound sent down his side. "But I wish you hadn't gotten the experience

firsthand."

"You are impossible."

"How are-" he asked. "I'm fine. The arm hurts, and the nerves burn all the

way to my neck sometimes, but the medtechs say that's normal and there's no

lasting damage."

"Good." Nathaniel offered a smile. The last thing he wanted was for her to

arrive on Accord and be crippled . . . or worse. But why had someone been

after them?

"Has anyone-" He had trouble concentrating, his thoughts skittering from one

image to another, reinforced by the tightness in his stomach that kept

insisting that something was very wrong.

"Your Prime Ecolitan talked to me, while they were still working on you."

Sylvia smiled. "He was more forthright than anyone from the Empire would have

been."

"And?" Nathaniel tried to bring up the relaxation techniques to reduce

muscular tension and pain, and eased himself back against the pale green

sheets-sheets, soft as they were, that felt like hundreds of pins where his

bare skin brushed them.

"The needles were Imperial military issue-the ones they use for Special Ops.

They're transparent to everything. They found a dead Coordinate trooper, minus

his uniform and equipment, just off the Debar base-"

"DeHihns," corrected Nathaniel. "Named after the first planetary chairman."

"They think he'd only been killed a few hours before."

"It couldn't have been an Imperial Special Op." Nathaniel shook his head

momentarily, then stopped as a line of fire slashed up his left side. He

closed his eyes against the light from the window. Even that seemed to glare.

"I'd agree." Sylvia smiled ironically. "I'd like to know why you think that,

though."

"First," he said slowly, "it's unlikely one could pass the screens, but if he

or she did, they'd be good enough that one or both of us would be dead.

Second, they'd have had a better opportunity on Old Earth. There, the timing

would have been far better . . . easier. . ." He took a slow deep breath,

letting the relaxation techniques blunt the pain. Sylvia nodded.

After all, Nathaniel reflected silently, for an Imperial Special Operative to

get to Accord before they had in time to set up an assassination attempt meant

that it had to have been planned almost before Nathaniel had completed his

rade negotiations. "Third . . . its too obvious."

"It was meant to be obvious." But why? That was the question. His vision

blurred. Sylvia stood quickly and stepped up beside the bed, touching his

forehead with her good hand, with fingers chat were cool and soothing. "Just

relax . . . you need to rest." He tried to smile, but found blackness looming

over him.

As he had the last time he had visited the Institute, Delegate Minister of

Interstellar Commerce Restinal paused outside the open door.

"Come on in, Werlin," called the Prime Ecolitans cheerful voice. "Remember, we

don't stand on ceremony. We don't even sit on it."

Restinal forced a genial smile and carried his datacase into the lorkin-

paneled office, bowing to the silver-haired man who stood by the wide table

that served as his desk.

"Take a seat." Without waiting for Restinal to follow the suggestion, Gairloch

Pittsway, Prime of the Ecolitan Institute, sat down in the hand-carved

armchair behind the table.

Restinal eased into the chair closest to the door, his datacase on his lap. "I

wished to convey personally my thanks to you and to the Institute for its

willingness to relinquish Ecolitan Whaler to the Ministry. His efforts as

Trade Legate to New Augusta were most effective." Restinal smiled again. "Most

effective."

"I'm glad you recognize that." "I was sony to hear

that the Empire rather belatedly also recognized his expertise and

effectiveness."

"Professor Whaler will be incapacitated for a short while, no longer, and I am

sure he will appreciate your concern, Werlin. Even if I did have to force him

on you." The Primes smile was faint.

"I bowed to your wisdom then, and I still do."

"Werlin, you only bow to superior force of one type or another, and we both

know it." There was a slight pause. "You didn't come all the way out here just

to offer congratulations and condolences. What did you have in mind?"

Restinal shifted his weight on the chair, already hard. "I understand that

Professor Whaler is a highly regarded expert on development economics, and

especially economic infrastructures."

"That is his specialty," acknowledged Pittsway. "We understand that New Avalon

may be requesting our assistance with such a matter on Artos." Restinal kept

his voice even. "We are to prepare a report on the economic development

structure and possibilities of Artos . . ."

"We? The Coordinate government doesn't have either the expertise or the

impartiality. Why did you agree to this before talking with the Institute?"

asked Pittsway, his voice equally level.

"We are well aware of the Institutes capabilities, as are the Avalonians."

"Minister Restinal . . . for whom did you agree to do this report, and why?"

"Officially, the report will be prepared for submission to the Commerce

Ministries of both New Avalon and the Coordinate."

"I see. And what . . . emphasis . . . do you expect this report to highlight,

Werlin?"

"I would like to see the report as factual and impartial as possible,"

Restinal answered earnestly. "You're aiming this toward Whaler like a point-

tailed retriever. Why? The poor bastard deserves a rest. We do have other

experts in the Institute."

"The Ministry has gained a great appreciation of Professor Whalers skills,

even in dealing with our own bureaucratic structures, and, alas, even we have

those . . ."

"Oh?"

"You may not have heard, but he was successful in . . . encouraging a young .

. . professional, from the External Affairs Committee staff of the Imperial

Senate to return to Accord with him. In some fashion, he obtained clearance

from both governments, or documents which represent such a clearance.

Especially those endorsed, even indirectly, by the Prime Ecolitan." Restinal

shrugged. "It's not exactly politic to question successful Legates, especially

those who have outmaneuvered the Empire, on such a relatively minor matter."

"I'm well aware of Ms. Ferro-Maine, and you knew that before you headed out

here. You wouldn't be bringing it up, Werlin, if you weren't angling for

something. What mess have you got stewing with New Avalon? Is this some

involuted scheme Torine designed?"

"You misunderstand me. Prime. It's just that I would scarcely want to have the

Institute embarrassed by the arrival of an Imperial citizen who might be

linked to the I.I.S."

"Restinal, you are behaving more and more like Torine every day. Or Quaestor

and Verlingetti. I understand that Elder Torine has only a thin working

majority, and that you Normists wish to retain power. That's politics. The

Institute doesn't care for most of your games, but every society and

government ends up with political intrigue. What we resent is your attempting

to conceal that intrigue when you're asking the Institute for something. So,

if you don't start thinking and leveling with the Institute, I'll be forced to

suggest that you take your portfolio and place it somewhere very private and

very dark." Restinal felt himself flushing. He rose. "Sit down. We, or

Ecolitan Whaler, saved your precious posterior. For Torine to send you out

here to insist on a dubious study with a clear second purpose and then to

threaten either one of us shows little gratitude and less sense. That's

particularly true given what Whaler's been through. Further, if I made public

what you just implied, you and Torine would suffer more than the Institute,

and you don't have that many seats on your side of the aisle to spare. You'll

have even less if Elder Quaestor or Verlingetti or one of the Orthodoxist

radicals hear this. Now, what do you really want and why?"

Restinal tried not to clamp his lips together too hard as he reseated himself.

The Prime waited, a half smile upon his lightly tanned and lined face.

"All I can say is that Artos is mentioned in some materials we are not

supposed to have. There is also a strong possibility for some agricultural-

technology transfer trade."

"Werlin..."

"Honestly, respected Prime. That is all I can say because its all we know."

"There has to be some context," pointed out Pittsway. "Artos appeared in some

standard business communiqués from a New Avalon factor with a less than savory

reputation. We think the copies were sent to our woman in New Avalon by a Hand

of the Mother. The context was merely a listing of cargos and agricultural

techpaks destined there."

"Since these are of themselves no value, I presume you brought copies," said

the Prime. Restinal nodded slowly.

"Bur you don't feel comfortable turning them over to me unless I agree to send

Whaler on this fools errand?" The Prime Ecolitan glanced at the datacase in

Restinal's lap. "You know better than that. After we see the communiques, and

after Professor Whaler is recovered enough to review the materials . . . if

he's interested, he can make that choice. He deserves that after saving your

posterior. Agri-tech trade indeed. Do you think Artos is just a pretext? Have

you any idea of where this insignificant system is?" Restinal sat silently.

"Werlin?"

"It's a fringe system of New Avalon."

"And?"

"Its the closest system to the Three System Bulge."

"My . . ." Pittsway drew out the word. "What a coincidence. The Fuards hold

the Three System Bulge, which they took from the Empire during our war of

secession, and they're flanked by Artos, held by New Avalon, by the Federated

Hegemony, and by the Frankan Union, and by, of course, the Empire. And you

blithely suggest that there's nothing beyond some cargo manifests and an

economic study?"

Restinal looked at the smoothly finished wood floor. "Didn't you learn

anything from the last mess, Werlin? First, if you have those communiques, so

does every intelligence service in the Galaxy. Second, whoever it was that

leaked them to you knows you'll have to go to the Institute, and they'll be

watching. That means someone wants us to do something they cant do, wont do,

or want to blame us for. We still have to do this . . . study-and I presume

its something you have worked out as a tacit cover that the entire Galaxy will

know is a cover. And we'll have to do it well, even while doing your dirty

work. Our problem here at the Institute is that we live in the same system as

you idiots do, that we have a fondness for Accord, and that, unlike some, we

attempt to live up to all our codes-and that means we don't play politics. Not

your way." Pittsway smiled. "So . . . do you trust us, or are you going to

take your papers home and fold gliders out of them-which is about what they'll

be worth if you leave without giving them to us?"

Restinal held in a sigh. Why was Elder Torine always putting him in such

impossible positions?

"Torine puts you in those positions, Werlin, because you're basically honest,

and no one else in the Delegate Ministries is both honest and intelligent.

You're also expendable because you got the portfolio through expertise and not

political capital." Restinal did sigh as he opened the datacase. "You're

handing us a mess, Werlin, but its not nearly that bad for you."

Restinal was sure it was worse, far worse, and that his troubles were just

beginning. He handed the flimsies across the desk.

Nathaniel Firstborne Whaler bowed as he stepped inside the door, ignoring the

twinges that intermittently traveled the nerves of his left side. "Prime?"

"Come on in, Nathaniel." The silver-haired Prime Ecolitan stood by the wide

table with the single drawer that served as his desk. As usual, the office was

free of clutter. Two hard-copy files lay on the corner of the immaculate blond

Ecolog-style desktable. The louvered shutters were open, and a cool breeze

wafted through the office.

Nathaniel paused between the two carved and high-backed wooden chairs.

"Sit down." Gairloch Pittsways green eyes twinkled. "After your ordeal, I

wouldn't keep you standing-not yet, anyway."

Nathaniel took the chair on the left side of the table and waited, his eyes on

the older man. "Solid work you did on Old Earth." The Prime took the other

carved chair in front of the desk. "Your return proved that."

"Thank you." When the Prime began with a compliment, trouble lay on the course

ahead. Nathaniel also didn't like the idea that an attempt on his own life

proved his value. That was almost like saying he wouldn't be appreciated until

he was dead. That kind of appreciation he could do without.

"Your unvarnished description of Imperial politics was refreshing, if not

unexpected. In view of your earlier efforts, you might be interested to know

we took steps with regard to the elections on Hernando. The Popular Front had

some setbacks in the balloting, and the Conservative Democrats have

consolidated their government. They no longer need the Socialist Republicans."

The Prime Ecolitan leaned back in his chair. "Would that our own citizens were

as perceptive. Or our own honorable representatives."

"What did the House of Delegates do?" Two compliments, reflected Nathaniel,

meant real trouble.

"At our prompting, indirectly, of course, they sent a communique to the

Imperial Senate strongly suggesting it was in everyone's best interests if

Hernando remained independent. The Imperial Secretary of External Affairs sent

a reassuring response, and the Elders are patting themselves on the back,

conveniently forgetting that the Institute carried everyone's oil. It works

better that way." Pittsway grinned. "You did manage to terrify a few of the

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摘要：

PROLOGUESecession,Ecologic(3647-48)ThewarleadingtotheindependenceoftheCoordinateofAccord[SeealsoEcologicRebellion,Accord,EcolitianInstitute].Duringtheyears3645-46,ImperialrelationswiththeFuardianConglomeratebecameincreasinglystrained,andanumberofcolonysystemsprotestedtheadvaloremandadpersonamtaxesle...

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Modesitt, L.E. - The Ecolitan Matter 04 - The Ecolitian Enigma

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